


Warm Comfort

by DeepBlueJoy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SPOILERS EPISODE 12:11 - 1/6/14, Sexual Content, Slash, Spoilers - 2014-2015 season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepBlueJoy/pseuds/DeepBlueJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes what you need and what you think you need aren't the same things. Sometimes the rules don't matter any more... Gibbs/Fornell</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Set after the death of Diane
> 
> It starts out as 'Gibbs' and 'Fornell' and ends up as 'Tobias' and 'Jethro'. It wasn't deliberate, but it feels right, so I left it. Let me know if you think it's too jarring. This is my first pure NCIS fic. I need feedback.  
> Pairing: Gibbs/Fornell.  
> Warning: Sexual content.

It started on a Saturday.

The Saturday after her funeral to be specific. He was so broken. He couldn’t believe it, but he was. He was her Shannon, she’d said. Those words had echoed in his head. For so many years, he’d believed himself immune to the hurt because he’d never let any of his ex wives in. He’d believed he could never feel it again. The real, deep brokenness that he’d felt after losing Shannon and Kelly. That feeling he’d had that he’d never be able to stop falling, never have normal. Then he’d stared into the hole. Again. The angry red hole that was supposed to break him. And it had. 

Maybe that was what it was. He didn’t know. 

The thing was; it had been worse for Fornell. At first, he’d failed to see it, of course. His own shock and pain so great. Oh, he’d known that the man was devastated, but Gibbs had gone to a place so dark, Gibbs couldn’t connect with anyone. Not his team. Not his friend. Not even Abby who was the one person he’d never managed to quite shut out emotionally. Abby, the only woman he knew he might be able to love unreservedly again. Which is why he'd never let it happen. He couldn’t protect her from this misery that was his life either. 

Couldn’t protect any of them. 

Not Shannon. Not Kelly. Not Mike. Not Diane. Not even Jenny or Macy or Langer, or all those uncounted and unnamed people he couldn’t save. Hadn’t saved. Had even put in harm's way or just hadn’t seen it coming, though he should have. At least that’s the way it felt to him. 

Not even the wood gave him peace anymore. And it didn’t matter how much bourbon he drank. He just felt himself slipping further and further away… just sliding away and he knew it was dangerous because he’d seen it in others and it never ended well. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do. Probably nothing. Except he knew one thing. He was never letting anyone close again. His father was dead. He cared about the people he worked with and that couldn’t be avoided, but they knew the drill. They’d made their choice. Death was an occupational hazard. But he was done. Done with letting people in. 

Feeling just cost too fucking much. Relationships had never been easy for him. Losing his mother early had destroyed that easy trust the young have that make most people open enough to let someone in early in life before life showed its true colors. It had made an already self-contained boy into someone who kept his counsel and kept his feelings strapped down and packed away. 

He’d made just one exception and look how that had turned out! He’d had love, had joy, had a tiny bit of heaven on earth and then it had been blown sky high. Literally. And it had taken most of him with it, though initially he had still had the instinct and the impulse to love someone like he had her and that was probably the best explanation for the ex-wives. Probably the explanation for their hair too. He’d had so much love. It had wanted somewhere to go… but none of them had been her, could be her. 

The truth was after Shannon, there were three people who truly ‘got’ Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Abby, because Abby was an empath and so full of sun and life that she cracked his shell and made him come alive… as much as he ever let himself. Mike Franks. Because Mike had lived it with him. Because Mike Franks had been, if anything, as broken and torn as he had been. And of course, Tobias. Because Tobias and he were so very alike. Alike enough that the one other woman that he had come closest to letting in again had seen it and chosen him too. And of course, it hadn’t gone well, but Gibbs had known _that_ was a forgone conclusion from the get go. 

That was why what happened was a shock, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. Because something was overdue to crack. He just hadn’t seen it coming. But how do you see things coming when they have no precedent? Things that afterward seem obvious and right, but before hand, you wouldn’t believe if anyone told you. 

Fornell had offered to make him dinner. Well, no, that wasn’t right. He’d come home to Fornell in his kitchen, making something that smelled so good, his mouth had begun to water before he knew just what it was. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Making dinner,” said Fornell, always economical with his words.

“That much is obvious,” said Gibbs.

“Mother has Emily,” said Fornell.

“Has her?”

“She hasn’t been coping,” said Fornell.

“This surprises you?”

“Of course not,” said Fornell.

“So she’s with your mother?” asked Gibbs. “Is this a permanent arrangement?”

“Dunno,” said Fornell, turning back to the stove and stirring something into the pot.

“And the answer is to make me dinner,” said Gibbs.

“That or find a bridge someplace. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Should I go?”

He shut off the stove.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Gibbs. “What can I do?”

“Are you hungry?” asked Fornell.

“I am,” said Gibbs.

“You’re doing it,” said Fornell.

“Doing it?”

“You asked what you could do. You’re hungry. It’s enough.”

“OK then,” said Gibbs.

Gibbs began to rummage around, pulling out plates, cutlery and set about laying the table. The kitchen dance, comfortable, familiar, as if they did it every night. For some reason, it seemed like a good idea to bring out the bottle of red wine someone had given him for Christmas. Wine wasn’t his preferred drink, but bourbon and Italian seemed like the wrong choice. So French wine it was.

“Fancy wine,” said Fornell.

“It was a Christmas present from the director. Supposed to be good stuff,” said Gibbs. “Would you prefer something else?”

“I brought beer,” said Fornell. “It’s in the bottom of the fridge.”

“This is much too nice a meal for beer,” said Gibbs, dipping his finger into the sauce and tasting it, then sucking on his finger, because the sauce had been just a hair too hot for dipping his finger into.

“You burned yourself.” Fornell’s tone was disapproving. He examined Gibbs’ reddened digit, and Gibbs pulled away automatically.

“It’s nothing,” said Gibbs. 

“It’s not nothing,” said Fornell. “Here, stick your hand under the water.”

Fornell turned the tap on.

“Yes, father,” said Gibbs, sticking his finger under the water.

“Jethro,” said Fornell. “You’re a terrible patient.”

“I’m not a patient,” said Gibbs turning off the water, then turning it back on again because his finger still burned.

Tobias grabbed a plastic tub and filled it full of ice chips from the icemaker that somehow still worked, in spite of the ancient, slightly decrepit nature of Gibb’s fridge. Then he filled it with water and swirled it around to chill the water.

“Here,” said Fornell. “Keep your finger in that until it stops smarting. It’ll stop the tissue damage. You’ll heal faster.”

“Stop fussing, Tobias,” said Gibbs.

“Have to fuss over someone, Jethro. It’s my nature,” said Fornell, shrugging.

“Fine. Fuss away,” said Gibbs. “Just feed me soon, OK?”

“Less than five minutes,” said Fornell whose hands flew over his various tasks with the familiarity of someone who did this every day.

 

__________

 

Dinner went well. Then came the beer drinking portion of the evening. Between them they polished off the six pack, talking about nothing of consequence. Getting drunk had seemed like a good idea, though neither man had said a thing about this plan. After the bottle of wine, it wasn’t quite enough to make them falling down drunk, but it was more than enough for the invitation.

“You’re not driving home,” said Gibbs, when Fornell finally stood up.

“Of course not,” said Fornell. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Stay,” said Gibbs.

“Stay?” 

“Yeah. I don’t really use the bed anyway,” said Gibbs.

“You’re sure?” asked Fornell, tired enough to want to stay, but still sober enough to wonder whether sleeping in the bed Gibbs didn’t sleep in was a good idea.

 

________

 

Gibbs awoke to the sound of a scream and was up the stairs and into the room with his gun before he realized that it was a nightmare.

“Tobias!” 

He flipped on the light as Fornell sat up in the bed, obviously disoriented.

“Shit!” said Fornell, raking his hand over his shaved head. 

His daughter had brought home lice. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then it felt like exactly the right thing to be clean shaved in mourning. To be like men of old, shorn of locks, in sackcloth and ashes. Except, as he’d told Gibbs, the ashes didn’t really go with the suit. Mores the pity.

“What happened?”

“It was me. On the roof. I saw her die. Fuck, Jethro. How do you carry that picture in your head? How do you live with it?”

“I keep asking myself that,” said Gibbs, his expression almost neutral. 

Fornell recognized that look. He felt that look. Empty. Hollowed out. Dry as death. 

“I think I need a drink,” said Fornell.

“What do you want, milk or bourbon?”

“Definitely bourbon."

“I’ll get it,” said Gibbs.

 

_______

 

“Think we’re drunk enough?” asked Fornell.

“Drunk enough?”

“To sleep?” 

“No idea. I’ll sit with... If you want to try,” said Gibbs.

“I, no. I don’t think so,” said Fornell. “Don’t want to close my eyes.”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs. 

 

_______

 

Gibbs woke up. It was almost dawn. It was the time he sometimes made his way, half asleep up to spend a couple of hours stretched out atop the bedspread on the bed he didn’t sleep in. This time, he had a warm body next to his. Someone holding him. He felt… comfortable. He began to fade back to sleep. Then, the shock of recognizing just where he was, and with whom, woke him quite completely. 

Oh, crap. He tried to extricate himself from Tobias’ embrace, but Tobias only held him closer, burrowing his face against Gibbs' neck, which Gibbs was surprised and disquieted to realize he found more than a little arousing. Tobias pressed himself close enough that he was in no doubt about the nature of the man’s state of arousal. The bareness of Tobias’ skin, except for the flimsy boxers. Who knew what he was dreaming about? Probably not him. Tobias would be mortified. 

Gibbs lay there, awake, surprised by how aroused he felt; and more than a little afraid Tobias would wake up. He kept hoping Tobias would release him without his having to wake the man. Then he’d go downstairs and say nothing about it. He told himself he was just waiting for the right moment. Of course, he was still exhausted and still more than a little drunk, and the warmth and the comfort won over the clever plan and he drifted back to sleep. 

Tobias was dreaming, but his dream was nothing like the dream that Gibbs imagined, though it had definitely started that way. He’d been dreaming of Diane. Of touching her. She was so warm. It was so comforting to have her near, then as he’d drawn her closer, and he’d realized that she was… different. 

Something was different. Not wrong, but different. His hands reached out to caress, and as his hands moved over the planes of her body, his subconscious mind made the connection his dreaming mind hadn’t. He was touching… Jethro. Jethro’s face, the stubble, the heat of his man’s body. The heaviness that wasn’t remotely Diane. Or remotely female.

For some reason, maybe because it was a dream, this didn’t bother him. It was comfort. Care. Strength. Strength he needed right now. He held on more tightly, his hands sliding along Jethro’s chest. Feeling the hair on his abdomen, his hands strayed lower. 

Clothing was in the way. He slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Jethro’s old sweats, to find Jethro already erect. Was he really doing this? Should he be doing this? Jethro didn’t seem to mind. He arched into Tobias’ hand. Tobias responded almost instinctually, pressing himself tightly against Jethro and feeling an answering response.

That was when sleep left Tobias entirely and fully. He froze. It was morning. He could see exactly where he was. What the hell? This was not a place he’d ever expected to end up. So why didn’t he feel more disgusted with himself? He’d never been a homophobe, but he’d never been ‘into’ men either. If he’d been honest, he’d probably noticed the other men he’d shared locker rooms with, but only in passing. Anything he’d felt, he’d never really seen a reason to act on, or even think about really. 

Yet, here he was in another man’s bed. With his body, his rigid cock pressed tightly against that man. His hands on that man’s cock. That man’s hands holding his in place. Slowly, he began to pull his hand away. At first, Jethro didn’t let him, but then; Jethro’s hand suddenly released his. Shit. Tobias wasn’t sure just what to do. He lay there staring at the ceiling and wondering if he could make good his escape, or if, as he suspected, Jethro was now awake. 

Then Jethro turned around to face him.

“Hey,” he said.

“That what you’re going with?” Jethro looked more amused than angry.

“What do you want me to say, Jethro?”

“No idea,” said Jethro. 

“I didn’t intend… that is… I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” said Jethro.

“What now?” asked Tobias. 

“Maybe it’s what you… what _we_ needed?”

“I needed to get drunk and molest my very straight friend?” 

Tobias sat up, turned partly away, looking awkward and defeated.

“Maybe you did,” said Jethro. “A bit of warm comfort.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” asked Tobias.

“I’m not sure I care what they’re calling it, Tobias,” said Jethro softly. “Not sure I give a fuck. Maybe we just don’t need ‘alone’ right now.”

“You don’t want me to go?”

“Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I’ll regret it later,” said Jethro, sitting up and putting his hand on Tobias’ thigh.

“But not right now.” Tobias turned to face him fully.

“Not right now,” said Jethro, leaning in and kissing Tobias very gently full on the lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write Gibbs and Fornell as 'suddenly gay' or 'always gay' because I don't see it. I do, however, believe that people in need find comfort in places they least expect it. I'm also not sure any of us is one hundred percent straight or gay.
> 
> Blue
> 
> Answering NFA's 'My Slashy Valentine Challenge'


End file.
